


Flowers

by Anonymous



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Deadlights (IT), Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Hallucinations, M/M, Mutual Pining, No Smut, Pining, Rated T for Trashmouth (IT), Richie Tozier Sees Eddie Kaspbrak's Death in the Deadlights, Richie Tozier's Deadlights Vision, Tattoos, They're both really bad at communication, car crash, r+e
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:01:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27676433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Richie blinks awake to sunlight shining through a tiny window. He’s in his house. In LA. Had that whole thing been… just a dream? It felt so real, but it must have been just a really vivid nightmare. God knows he gets those too often. He pushes off the blanket and grabs his glasses from the bedside table. There’s a faint sizzling sound coming from the kitchen, and the smell of bacon wafts down the hallway. But Richie lives alone.Did someone break in? No, don’t be stupid, who breaks into someone’s house and then cooks them breakfast? A really shitty criminal, that’s who.Richie grabs the frying pan he keeps by his bed for exactly this situation and slowly moves toward the kitchen, being careful to make as little noise as possible. And then he sees who it is, and the frying pan hits the floor with a crash.Eddie jumps. “Jesus Christ, the fuck are you doing?”
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Kudos: 74
Collections: Anonymous





	Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS A RE-POST  
> I wrote and published this about a year ago, then deleted it. Re-posting it anonymously.

To outsiders, it may seem that deadlights work instantaneously, and in fact, they do. The victim is fully incapacitated in under three seconds. For the victim, on the other hand, the takeover feels agonizingly slow as they struggle, but the futility always dawns on them eventually. And so it was with Richie Tozier. 

He could feel himself suspended in the air, a horrible _squeezing_ sensation around his whole body, holding him there. _Not real, not real, not real_ , he tells himself. _Whatever you’re about to see, it’s not real_. It feels like drowning, the water creeping insistently up his body no matter how frantically he kicks out. _Not real, not real_. The water fills his mouth and nose. _Not real, not-_ and rises over his head.

_Richie blinks awake to sunlight shining through a tiny window. He’s in his house. In LA. Had that whole thing been… just a dream? It felt so real, but it must have been just a really vivid nightmare. God knows he gets those too often. He pushes off the blanket and grabs his glasses from the bedside table. There’s a faint sizzling sound coming from the kitchen, and the smell of bacon wafts down the hallway. But Richie lives alone._

_Did someone break in? No, don’t be stupid, who breaks into someone’s house and then cooks them breakfast? A really shitty criminal, that’s who._

_Richie grabs the frying pan he keeps by his bed for exactly this situation and slowly moves toward the kitchen, being careful to make as little noise as possible. And then he sees who it is, and the frying pan hits the floor with a crash._

_Eddie jumps. “Jesus Christ, the fuck are you doing?”_

_If Richie could have convinced himself he only made a mistake before, here was proof that he hadn’t. “Eddie?”_

_Eddie raises an eyebrow. “…Yes?”_

_Richie has about a thousand questions, but he can’t seem to ask any of them, his mouth silently opening and closing. Eventually he forces words out. “Don’t you live in New York?”_

_“No? I’ve been living with you for three years now, Richie. Are you okay?”_

_“I, uh…” What the fuck was he supposed to say? ‘I haven’t seen you in twenty years, so what the hell are you doing in my house?’ “Just had a really weird nightmare is all. I’m fine.”_

_Eddie looks concerned. “If you’re sure.”_

_He hands Richie a plate, and they sit down to breakfast. Richie washes the dishes, since Eddie cooked. Eddie dusts crumbs off the kitchen counter. It’s disgustingly domestic, and yet Richie feels himself sinking into it easily. Almost too easily, considering this isn’t_ his _life._

_“You gonna get dressed? We gotta leave soon,” says Eddie, glancing at his watch._

_“Uh…leave for where?”_

_Eddie looks back up at him, confused. “Work? Like always?”_

_“Oh, yeah, ok, lemme just… go do that,” Richie says, walking backwards down the hallway._

_When he comes back out, Eddie’s waiting for him by the door. He’s only holding one set of keys._

_“Sorry, Eds, do you know where my keys are?”_

_“Don’t call me Eds,” he grumbles, and it’s just as cute as Richie remembers. “Also, we go together, I drive you. Are you sure you’re okay?”_

_"Yeah, I’m okay.”_

_The drive itself is uneventful. Richie does his best to pretend like he knows what’s going on, and mostly succeeds. He hopes Eddie doesn’t think he’s on crack or something. Eventually Eddie pulls up outside an office building. “Good luck at your meeting,” he says as Richie gets out of the car._

_“Thanks, Eds,” Richie replies, grinning at him._

_Eddie rolls his eyes, but his expression is… fond? “Love you, Richie.”_

_Richie whips back around, just in time to see the SUV ram into the back of the car. Eddie’s body flies forward, and Richie hears a sickening crunch. He doesn’t think, just runs back to Eddie and yanks open the driver’s side door._

_Eddie is slumped down over the steering wheel. Richie scoops him easily into his arms, yelling at the other driver to_ fucking call 911 _and Eddie is too light and too limp and he might be-No, he won’t even think about that. Richie’s tears drip onto Eddie’s face and he’s not waking up. He can’t stop shaking. “I love you too, Eds, always have, always will…”_

_But Eddie doesn’t scowl at him, doesn’t say “For the thousandth time, don’t call me that,” and what Richie wouldn’t give to hear that right now._

_The ambulance comes. Lights flash and people bark commands at each other and Eddie is loaded onto a stretcher. There’s so much noise that Richie almost doesn’t hear someone calling his name. “Richie, I think I killed it!” Except… that’s Eddie’s voice. And Eddie is currently lying unconscious in the back of an ambulance. “Richie!” Louder now, more insistent. “I did it, I think I did it!”_

_Richie screws his eyes shut, focusing on finding the source of the voice. The sirens and chatter melt away, and_ Richie’s eyes snap open.

Eddie’s there, on top of him, warm and solid and _alive._ Richie wants more than anything to hug him and tell him _don’t you dare pull anything like that ever again,_ but this is not that Eddie. 

Blood sprays across Richie’s face. Eddie’s euphoric expression drops into one of horror, his skin pale white and clammy. “Richie…” he gasps, voice thin and reedy. Blood dribbles from his mouth. 

Someone, Richie doesn’t know who, helps him lift Eddie and move him to a corner. “Dammit, Eds, you’re gonna get through this, okay? You’re gonna make it out of this damn house and you’re gonna have a long and happy life after this and-“

“Beep beep, Richie,” Eddie whispers. “I have to tell you…”

“Yeah?” Richie asks shakily. He’s crying again, but Eddie doesn’t seem to mind. 

“I…” Eddie pauses, as if steeling himself. “I fucked your mom.” Richie only cries harder, and Eddie grimaces. _Dammit, I’m about to die, and I’m still too damn scared to do this. Fuck that. I’m done being scared._

Eddie draws in a breath. “Richie.”

“Yeah, Eddie?” Richie’s voice is thick with tears. 

“I love you,” Eddie tells him, strangely steady. Richie stares at him for a moment, then buries his face in Eddie’s shoulder, sobbing. Eddie’s eyes flutter closed. 

~~~~~

The first thing Eddie is aware of is his own breathing, rattling in and out of his chest, but a regular rhythm nonetheless. The next thing is the pain; he feels like he’s been run through a blender. But pain is good, that means he’s still alive. _He’s still alive_. 

Opening his eyes is like ripping off a Band-Aid. He blinks several times, adjusting to the too-bright light. And then he notices he’s not alone. 

Richie is sitting by Eddie’s bedside, crammed into a too-small plastic chair that’s probably uncomfortable as all fuck, head drooping onto his shoulder. His glasses are about to fall off his nose, and his hair is a mess. Eddie doesn’t want to wake him, it’s probably the first sleep he’s gotten in days, judging from how terrible he looks. 

Eddie gingerly pulls his arms out from under the thin blanket, joints popping and sore muscles groaning. _What the fuck happened to me?_

He’d gone to the house on Neibolt Street, with the others. They’d fought Pennywise. Richie got caught in the deadlights. He’d tried to kill Pennywise, but… it didn’t work. Pennywise stabbed him, and his last words (what he _thought_ would be his last words) were to tell Richie that he loved him. Except… Eddie was still alive. _Shit_. 

The rustling of the sheets must have been louder than Eddie realized, because Richie starts awake. His eyes go wide. “Holy fuck, you’re up. Uh… do you want me to go call someone or something? Are you okay?”

Eddie clears his throat. “Yeah, that would probably be a good idea.” 

The nurse tells them that Eddie needs to stay in the hospital for a few more days, but he’s recovering well considering the size of the wound, and that his doctor should be in soon. Then she leaves, and it’s just him and Richie.

“So,” he says. 

“So,” Richie echoes. 

Eddie can feel Richie’s eyes tracing over his collarbone and he briefly wonders why before he remembers that Richie hasn’t seen him in 27 years. And in that time, he was young, and dumb, and _really_ wanted to piss off his mother. He quickly pulls up the neckline of his hospital gown to cover the tattooed stars trailing across his skin. Then he realizes he has more ink on his arms, and shoves them under the blanket. Richie raises an eyebrow but says nothing. 

“You gonna head back to LA soon?” Eddie asks, to break the silence.

“Yeah,” says Richie, but he looks… _sad?_ “What about you? Back to New York, and your _lovely_ wife?” 

Eddie laughs hollowly at that. “I’m getting a fucking divorce.” 

~~~~~

Richie doesn’t leave the hospital until Eddie gets discharged, despite the fact that sleeping in a plastic chair for that long has to be _murder_ on his back. They’re not 20 anymore. Eddie tries to tell him to go back to the Townhouse, but Richie always brushes him off with, “It’s just a few days, it’s not a problem.” 

Eddie spends most of his time sleeping, on the recommendation of the nurse. Fine by him, as it also means he’s saved from trying to make awkward conversation with Richie. To his credit, Richie also doesn’t mention what Eddie said to him back at the Neibolt house. Thank God. 

The fourth day after waking up, when the sun is just beginning to set, Eddie is finally able to trade his flimsy gown for normal clothes and leave the hospital. 

“So, whatcha wanna do now that you’re finally free, Eds?”

Eddie sighs. “Don’t call me that.” But there’s no bite to it. 

“You love it, don’t lie.”

“God, I really didn’t miss this.”

They get into Richie’s accident-prone red convertible and Richie begins driving in the direction of the Townhouse. The silence is thick and awkward, but Eddie doesn’t know what to say. Richie used to talk enough for the both of them, but now he’s uncharacteristically quiet. 

Richie’s having a silent argument with himself. _Just tell him, you know he feels the same way, he fucking told you! No, he probably meant it platonically, he thought he was going to die for fuck’s sake. He’ll never want to see you again, he’ll think you’re fucking disgusting. But he said “I love you.” And Goddammit, I love him too._

Richie clears his throat. “Eddie, can I tell you something?”

“Sure.”

“When I was… hallucinating, you know, in the deadlights, I saw you and me. And we were… living together.”

“We were roommates?”

“No, we were…”

Eddie turns to look at him. “We were what?”

Richie mumbles something unintelligible. 

“What?”

“We were _together_.”

“Like _together_ together?”

Richie nods. 

“And… that scared you?” _Shit, shit, shit, he probably thinks I’m disgusting, why the fuck did I say ‘I love you’?_

“No, it didn’t.” Richie sighs. “Well, it did, but not like that. It was just… it scared me how much I wanted it to be real.”

Silence. _God he’s probably thinking how to let me down easy, he meant it as a fucking friend-_

“Well, you know how I feel, Richie.”

If the car hadn’t been stopped at a red light, Richie would’ve swerved and probably gotten into an accident. “So… you meant what you said back in the house?”

Eddie looks down at his knees. “Yeah.”

“We’re just a pair of idiots, then,” Richie laughs. “I love you too, Eddie.” Eddie looks back at him wide-eyed, and Richie really wants to kiss him. Eddie would probably kill him if they did it while driving, though. 

“How long?” Eddie asks. 

“Shit, since we were _kids_ , Eds. How ‘bout you?”

“Me too, God. We were really fucking stupid,” Eddie says, smiling. 

When they get back to the Townhouse, Richie parks the car and says, “So I know this is a crappy first date, but you wanna watch some movies together?” 

“Yeah, but we’re not watching a fucking horror movie.”

“Sure, anything you want.”

They end up in Eddie’s room, some shitty rom-com playing on the TV and the two of them on the bed. Richie’s arm is slung around Eddie, and Eddie leans his head onto Richie’s shoulder. 

~~~~~

After the second movie ends, Eddie turns off the TV. “Hey, Richie.” 

“Yeah?”

“You know… I’ve always liked it when you called me Eds.”

Richie sits up like he’d been shocked. “I fucking knew it!”

Eddie sighs. “I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?”

“Nope,” Richie says, grinning. 

Eddie gets off the bed. “I’m gonna go change into some pajamas.”

“Yeah, I probably should too.” Richie makes his way to the door.

“Wait, Richie, would you… wanna sleep here?”

“Eddie, under almost any other circumstances I’d say hell fucking yes but didn’t they tell you no strenuous activity for at least a month?”

“Not like _that_ , oh my God, I just meant _sleep_!” Eddie splutters. 

“Oh. _Oh._ Shit. I mean, _yes_. I’ll, uh, I’ll be right back.” Richie quickly leaves.

Eddie opens up his suitcase, and promptly realizes he didn’t account for being seriously injured when he packed it. Which means he only has one more set of clean clothes. A T-shirt, and… shorts. Which means Richie will be able to see most of his tattoos. Shit. 

A knock on the door. 

“Just a second!” he calls, yanking the shirt over his head and pulling on the shorts. Eddie opens the door, and Richie stares unabashedly at the ink on Eddie’s arms and legs. Eddie crosses his arms to hide the tattoos on the insides of his arms. 

“I knew you were hot, but _damn_ , Eds.”

Eddie throws a pillow at him. “Shut up. Get in here already.”

They sit back on the bed. Richie tries not to stare at Eddie’s tattoos. Eddie tries not to look at Richie. Finally, Richie speaks up. “So, what do they mean? The tattoos.”

Eddie resists the urge to cover them up. “You’ve seen the stars. Honestly those were just because they looked nice. This one,” he points at the bird on his left shoulder, “and this one,” he shows Richie the cowboy on his left forearm, “mean _fuck you, Sonia Kaspbrak_. So does this,” he pulls down the shirt slightly to reveal _No Dice_ written across his chest. 

“I thought that was my job!”

“Didn’t know you were into necrophilia, Richie.”

Richie laughs. “And Eddie Kaspbrak gets off a good one!” He looks at Eddie’s other arm. “What about those?”

“The flowers?” Eddie ran a finger over the stems of the two intertwined flowers. “I had those done pretty soon after I left Derry. I hadn’t forgotten everything yet. And… I thought I’d never see you again.”

“They mean… me and you?” Richie asks incredulously. Eddie nods. “Didn’t know you were such a sap, Eds.”

“Says the one who’s been in love with me for 30 years.”

“So were you!”

~~~~~

The next morning, Eddie wakes up to find his head has somehow moved from his pillow onto Richie’s chest, with Richie’s arm resting on top of him. _How had they gotten here?_ But it’s warm, and comfortable, and Eddie is surprised at how much he likes it. He closes his eyes and goes back to sleep. 

Richie wakes up wondering why the blanket is so heavy before he realizes it’s not the blanket at all. Eddie is curled up against him, and that may be the cutest thing he’s ever seen. He gently brushes Eddie’s hair out of his face. “Morning,” he says when Eddie opens his eyes.

“Five more minutes,” Eddie grumbles. Richie laughs, but obliges. 

It isn’t until later that Richie realizes that he didn’t have a nightmare, for the first time since arriving in Derry. 

~~~~~

After packing their bags and checking out of the Townhouse, they get back into Richie’s convertible. “Before we go to the airport, there’s something I gotta show you,” Richie says cryptically. 

“What is it?”

“You’ll see when we get there!”

Richie stops the car near the Kissing Bridge. As they walk across, he trails his fingers over the wood, looking at the various carvings. He finally stops close to the center of the bridge and moves his hand so Eddie can see what he’s looking at. 

_R + E._

“I carved this twenty-seven years ago,” Richie says quietly. Eddie lightly dusts the carving with his fingertip. Richie pulls out a pocket knife and flicks it open. Eddie watches as he carefully follows the lines, deepening them. When he’s finished he brushes away the wood shavings and takes a long look at his handiwork. R + E. 

“I have something to show you, too,” Eddie says when Richie turns back to look at him. He leads Richie further along the bridge, scanning the wood for his own carving. “This one,” he says, pointing to it.

A crudely drawn heart, but a heart nonetheless. And the letter inside is unmistakable. 

_R_. 

“Mind if I borrow your knife?”

Richie hands it over, and it’s Eddie’s turn to go over the lines he’d carved into this bridge so long ago. After clearing away the dust and wood shavings, he gives Richie back his knife and says, “I carved that when we were twelve. So… twenty-eight years ago now.”

Richie is silent for a moment, looking at the carving, then Eddie, then back again.

“Damn, I show a guy my twenty-seven-year-old love confession and then get one-upped like that?” he asks, laughing.

“I pined after your ass for one year longer, that doesn’t make much of a difference when it took us nearly thirty fucking years and me _almost dying_ to realize.”

“Yeah, about that, don’t you _ever_ scare me like that again, I’m serious.”

“Okay, _Mom_.”

They walk back down the bridge hand in hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed. Let me know what you think in the comments!


End file.
